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GEORGE REED 



COPYRIGHTEzD 




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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



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POEMS 



BY 



GEORGE REED. 



COPYRIGHTED NOVEMBER, 1909 
BY 



W. B. REED 



Eagle Job Office Print 
White Cloud, Michigan. 



©©NTENTS r ~P( 



TO THE VETERANS 
EVENING SCENERY 
PATH OF NIGHT 

LIGHT AND SHADE OR HOPE DEFERRED 
THE FAIREST FLOWER 
QUIET 

SHALL I KNOW THEE 
TO A DEPARTED MOTHER 
GROWING OLD 
A RETROSPECTION 
TO MAUD LA BRUSH 
INTEMPERANCE 
EVENING THOUGHTS 
YOUTH AND HOPE 
WALTER AND NELLIE'S HOME 
ALL HAVE A MISSION 
RETURNING HOME 
DECORATION DAY 
CAPITAL AND LABOR 
HOUSE WARMING, 
HARRISON AND PROTECTION 
LINES 
A DREAM 
DECAY 

OUR WEDDING ANNIVERSARY 
SPRING , , , 
IMPROMPTU LINES 



©CI.A251703 



SEARCH NOT FOR GOD 

GEORGE. I AM LONELY 

TO MY WIFE 

TO REV. HENRY MARSH 

MEMORY OF MRS. NINA DARLING 

THE PLOW 

TO GEORGE A . REED 

PUSH ALONG 

29th MICHIGAN 

SLEIGHING 

ALL ALONE, A LAMENTATION 

MICHIGAN TO THE CONVENTION 

TO MY FRIEND SQUIBBS 

AN OLD MAN'S SOLILOQUY 

IN BEHALF OF THE POOR INDIAN 

THE POND LILY 

LIFE IN ITS VARIATIONS 

A LETTER 

SUNNY SOUTH LAND 

LINES TO HIS WIFE 

INDEPENDENCE DAY 

TO TOM 

A LETTER 

A MOTHER'S LOVE 

A LETTER 

IN MEMO:iY OF MRS . WALTER J. HILL 

LINES TO WIFE 

MUSING 




3ui>>rx^X^ 



To The Veterans. 

Ye comrades of a bloody strife 
Who fought to save a nation's life. 
Who fought where Grant and Sherman led, 
Who faced the re^bel storm of lead, 
With Thomas in the van; 

While Memory still retains her seat, 
Each breast will warm while you repeati 
Yea, while this mortal coil shall last, 
You'll love to tell through what you've passed 
And victories you, have vvon. 

On stern Lookout you faced the foej 
The vale all stained with blood below. 
Amidst the din and dreadful fray , 
You won a glorious victory. 

Snatched from the rebel band. 

On Chickamauga's bloody field • > > ■>.■ 
A stubborn foe was forced to yield. 
When powder failed, and short of lead. 
No other chan<ie or choice you had 
But use the naked brand. 

At Pittsburg Landing's bloody fight 
Prom early morn 'til late at night. 
First daiy's battle ne'er won or lost 
For valor met a valiant host. 

The sun went down in gloom. 

Nor ceased the dreadful't^arn age there. 
Death's thunder shook the midnight air. 
The morn! The dreadful morning came: 
The vantage ground you must regain 

'Though death each hero's doom. 



The musket roll, the cannonade, 
The charge, the shout, the dripping blade! 
A desperate foe was forced to yield. 
The dead and dying on the field 

Of thousands quite a score. 

At Gettysburg in sixty -three, 
The rebels fought with General Lee 
In deep battalions, corps on corps. 
They fought as ne'er they fought before 
To press your legions back. 

It was more than a Waterloo, 
The rebel Gray against the Blue. 
When Picket all that host arrayed 
With bayonet set and waving blade, 
They charged along the line. 

The trembling earth confessed the shock. 
Your ranks were firm as Elsie's Rock; 
They faced the storm with desperate will 
Their av*rful mission to fulfil, 

But still the day was lost. 

The field was plowed with shot and shell: 
It seemed the very mouth of hell, 
And all their boasted chivalry 
Were plainly taught and made to see 
How dear the venture cost. 

The foreign nations stood confused. 
For you had broken rebel crust. 
Old France, she shouted "vive loi, " 
The British lion licked his paw 

And crouching sought his lair. 

But language fails me quite to tell 
Of where you fought and comrades fell. 
You on your country's altar laid 
Three hundred thousand of your dead. 
That liberty might live. 



Your hopes, your sighs as well as fears. 
They're mingled with the passing years. 
And comrades passing to the shore 
To join the thousands gone before, 

Your ranks are growing thin. 

But you have left a heritage. 
Your deeds w^ill live on history's page 
And generations, yet to come 
Will glory in the work you've done 
And proudly own their kin. 

Lo, while the Stars and Stripes shall wave 
Above a fallen hero's grave, 
While Freedom's temple shall endure. 
Made by your sacrifice secure, 

Your fame can never die. 

But you have pledged with lifted hand 
By all your country's rights to stand; 
'Though death itself should be the prize 
You'll cheerfully make the sacrifice 
Should traitors dare to try. 



Evening Scenery. 

When sitting in the windowed car 
And gazing on .the sky, afar 

Above the setting sun, 
I saw, at least I seemed to see 
A broad expanse of distant sea, 

The forest just beyond. 
'Twas like a lake of burnished gold. 
Of beauty that can ne'er be told, 

With islands floating there. 
Or was it but a fancied dream 
In which such grandeur could be seen 

Of beauty strange and rare? 
No painter's skill with blended dye, 
Nor far-famed artist need to try 

Such radient beauty there. 
Like ambered crystal, bright and clear, 
When burnished gold would dim appear. 

A molten lake of fire! 
Or was it but the setting sun, 
The king of day whose work w^as done, 

Thus robed for to retire? 



INTEMPERANCE. 

Intemperance long a crying sin 

Of dark and deadly stain, 
Has rolled its billows o'er our land, 

And burned with deadly flame. 

The happy home, the brightest spot, 
To man vouchsafed from heaven. 

It changes to a place of hate. 
And friend from friend is riven. 

The promised joy of future bliss; 

Anticipated heaven, — 
Have died beneath its v^^ithering breath, 

And from the breast been driven. 

No lingering ray of earthly joy. 
Nor peace, nor comfort here, 

Is left within the drunkard's breast 
His downward course to cheer. 

A withering tide of liquid fire 
Has rolled our country o'er, 

A crushing wave of sin and death 
Has lashed the distant shore. 

Parental hope, connubial joy, 

And filial love have died, 
'Though fair as Eden all before 

The dark engulfing tide. 

The brightest talent of our land 
Has bowed a wretched slave, 

And manhood in its strength and prime 
Has filled a drunkard's grave. 

Hell never had a stronger friend. 

Nor heaven a greater foe. 
It crowds the road that leads to death 

Down which its victims go. 



You ask me can I bring the proof 
To make the indictment stand, 

I point you to a thousand homes 
Scattered o'er this land. 

And do 3'ou ask or wish for more, - 

Go to the prison cell, — 
To hear them plead of virtues youth, 

And tell how they have fell. 

Go look upon the gallows beam. 
The scaffold reared on high, 

And read despair upon phe face 
Of those condemned to die. 

Go see the widow dressed in weeds 
And hear the orphan's moan. 

The mother's heart with anguish wrung, 
And reason quite dethroned. 

Go search the darkest realms of crime, 

The deepest pit of woe. 
Of death, and sin and wretchedness 

And find from whence they flow. 

The giant evil stands arraigfned 

Before the bar of earth, 
A viper of the deadliest kind, 

A blighting, withering curse, 

O, for a nation's mighty voice 

The monster to condemn, 
And hurl the tyrant from his throne. 

Beyond the reach of men. 



Growing Old. 

I scarcely think I'm growing old, 

And yet it must be so, 
My children's heads are turning gray, 

And marks of age they show. 

Must I believe I'm growing old? 

The thought seems strange to me; 
Not often '*pa" but * 'grandpa" now, 

From children on my knee. 

Oh, must I think I'm growing old? 

But still, perhaps 'tis true, 
The days of youth, how soon they pass, 

Brief as the morning dew. 

I scarce believe I'm growing old, 

When thinking of the past; 
Is life a vapor— but a span — 

A breath that cannot last? 

Alas, we all are growing old. 

Then why should I repine? 
Youth, manhood, age, are mingled steps 

And brief the space of time. 

'Though when we're old we may not reach 

The goal of wealth or fame, 
But deeds of love and usefulness 

Will leave an honored name. 

And thus the world may be improved 

By our short journey here; 
When we have shuffled off this coil. 

And joined some distant sphere. 



A Retrospection. 

Through morning mist and meadows green 

Or gentle vales that lay between, 

The far uplifting mountains high 

Like Babel's tower that reached the sky, 

Or through some lonely woodland grove 
Where swain might breath his tale of love, 
Or where the minstrel birds of spring 
Their songs of hope and joy might sing. 

Of such has been my journey through, 
Of such the path I did persue 
O'er life's rough road or winding track; 
Or such it seams when looking back. 

Of such the path that mortals tread 
While threatening clouds hang overhead. 
Anon the sky may brighter seem. 
Anon life's clouds may intervene. 



To Maud LaBrush. 

Thy lips are sealed, thy ears are deaf. 

But still thy heart is warm as ours; 
And though you mourn the sad bereft. 

Thank God you still have reasoning powers. 
Might angels not have claimed the prize 

Had all thy faculties been given, 
As fit for some celestial skies. 

Too fair for earth, and fit for Heaven. 



Quiet. 

I love to steal away awhile, 

To some sequestered shade 
Where all is peaceful, all is still, 

And rest this aching head. 

The world is full of care and strife 
From early morn 'til noon. 

And from the day's meridian hour 
'Til night's returning gloom. 

I love to h^ar the tinkling rill. 
The bird's enchanting song, 

It makes the quiet seem more still 
As moments pass along. 

There memory can travel back ' ■ 
O'er life's meandering path. 

Recall the pleasures we have had, 
■Or grief through which we've passed. 



4f^ 4^ 41^ 4^. 4^ 4^ 4^ 4^ 4^ 4l^ 

— -<^ .^-tjT> -^(To —-^v ^-^o ^ ^-tfo .^■^T) -.tTtT iTo <T$^ 



SHALL I KNOW THEE? 
To Susan, My Wife. 

How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps 

The disembodied spirits of the dead, 
When all of thee, that time could wither, sleeps, 

And perishes among the dust we tread? 

For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain 
If there I meet thy gentle presence not; 

Nor hear the voice I loved, nor read again 
In thy serenest eye the tender thought. 

Will not thy own meek heart demand me there, 
That heart whose fondest throbs to me were given? 

My name on earth was ever in thy prayer, 
And wilt thou never utter it in Heaven? 

In meadows fanned by Heaven's life giving wind 
In the resplendance of that glorious sphere, 

And larger movements of the unfettered mind. 
Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here? 

The love chat lived through all the stormy past, 
And meekly with my harsher nature bore. 

And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last. 
Shall it expire with life and be no more? 

A happier lot than mine and larger light 
Await thee there, for thou hast bowed thy will 

In cheerful homage to the rule of right, 
And lovest all and renderest good for ill. 

For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell 
Shrink and consume my heart, as heat the scroll. 

And wrath has left its scar — that fire of hell 
Has left its frightful scar upon my soul. 



Yet, though thou wearest the glory of the sky, 
Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name. 

The same fair thoughtful brow and gentle eye, 
Lovelier in Heaven's sweet climate, yet the same? 

Shalt not thou teach me, in that calmer home, 
That wisdom that I learned so ill in this — 

The wisdom which is love^'til I become 
Thy fit companion in that world of bliss? 

And wilt thou lead me to those dear ones gone 
To walk those fronded groves of peaceful rest, 

And may I hear them sing some Heaven learned song 
And may I clasp them to this sin stained breast? 

With thee and them in that bright realm of bliss, 
No more to strive with disapointed care, 

To walk those flowery groves of peaceful rest, 
With thee, dear wife, and all our children there. 

Oh, happy thought of rest and peace above, 
Your anxious wish and oft repeated prayer, 

Your labored care and unrequitted love 
In Heaven's good time will be rewarded there. 



^3^^^3^^^^^^^^f^^^^^^^^^^^^ft^^^^^^^^^^ 



To a Departed Mother. 

While wrapped in Morpheus' arms to rest. 

Oh, was it but a dream? 
I saw my mother's angel form 

Beyond life's troubled stream. 

She stood in robes of pure3t whi^e, 
Her radient countenance shone, 

Her hands with palrps of victory decided 
And on her head a crown. 

Behind: her rolled |ihe turbulent stream ^ 
. Of; life:' s tempestuous foam; 
Before^her-stoad the pearly gates 
Of her eternal home. 

An angel haiad unbarred the door 

And threw the ^^Oftals wide, 
And songs of triumph wrapped her soul 

Like oceans swelling tide. 

The dear ones that had gone before, 

She to her bosom clasped; 
She found them all on that blessed shore 

To dwell with her at last. 

And there with songs of endless praise 

To her Redeemer given, 
She'll bask beneath the celestial rays 

With those she loved, in Heaven. 

Whilst here destined to longer stay, 

Guide thou my erring feet. 
That I may walk that better way. 

At last with thee to meet. 



Light and Shade. -Or Hope Deferred. 

Again a long- and tedious year 
Has marked my lonely journey here, 
Again the leaves are turning- sere 
The hig-hts are g-rowing- cold. 

And must 1 tarry in this wild? 
'Tis strange! Am I misfortune's child? 
But' at misfortune let me smile 
With patience as of old. 

Nor will I murmur at my lot. 
The gathering storms, I fear them not, 
The dreary past shall be forgot; 
There's sure a brighter day. 

Each promise of the past hath fled, 
Hope's dreams are mouldering with the dead, 
The threatening clouds hang overhead: 
But storms may still delay. 

And still I linger on the sky. 
The storms of life I still defy 
Or trust they soon will pass me by 
And leave a brighter day. 

Nor will I say I much dislike 
Alternate change of day and night 
For darkness makes the day more bright 
And brings a brighter ray. 

'Tis well to dream of peace and rest 
With hope within the human breast; 
Fair harbinger of future bliss. 
An angel sent from Heaven. 

Upon her arm we love to lean, 
She gives a charm to every dream. 
In every future prospect seen; 
'Tis well that hope is given. 



The Fairest Flower. 

There blooms no flower on earth so fair 

As piety in female breast. 
Religeon seems most lovely there 

In all its richest radiance dressed, 

I've seen the image of thy face 
And thought, has she a pious mind, 

Has her heart known that Heavenly grace 
For mortals happiness destined? 

And does she tread with cautious step 
The path that leads up to the sky, 

With hope and prayer upon her lip, 
Devotion sparkling in her eye? 

If such are added to thy charms, 

For thee I have one anxious prayer: 

May you a consort find for life 
Noble and good as thou art fair. 




Path of Night. 

Nig-bt, with her song that lulls to rest, 
And robes all drenched in evening dew. 

Had passed the portals of the west 
To greet the rising moon in view. 

One lonely star, a brilliant orb. 

Looked down from her unmeasured height, 
And through the deep etherial blue 

Cast rays upon the path of night. 

Nor were the darkened heavens long 
In changing to a spangled frame. 

And thousands tuned their evening song. 
Their Maker's glory to proclaim. 




With brilliant orbs of burnished gold 
Or glittering rays from shields of light, 

To guard the ramparts of the sky, 
Or light the path of gentle night. 



The milky way stretched from afar, 
A shining path for angels given; 

Where happy spirits could alight 
And rest while on their way to Heaven. 

Oh Wonderous, strange, mysterious vault 
Of boundless, deep, eternal space. 

Nor angels' wing, nor seraphs' thought 
God's power and wisdom e'er can trace. 

Thought most profound can never reach, 
Nor mortal wisdom e'er define; 

We trace the boundless realms of space. 
And learn that God is all devine. 

How weak, how frail is human thought, 
To measure God, His love and power. 

'Tis not for us, frail worms of earth. 
The creatures of a short lived hour. 

'Tis not for us, but we may learn 

The Great Creator to adore. 
Before whom seraphs cast their crowns 

While angels own His love and power. 



EVENING THOUGHTS. 

Fair mooii that greets the evening star 
With silver radiance bright, 

Thy crescent form adorns the west 
And beautifies the night. 

Wjhile Venus. climbs the eastern sky, 
Least earth should sink in gloom. 

And all the starry host on high 
Join in a secred tune. 

A tune that angels well might sing, 
In rapturous strains above. 

In honor and in praise of him. 
Who thus displays his love. 

All nature smiles on sinful men 

With seeming love divine 
While still he lifts rebellious hand. 

And wanders on in crime. 

How merciful must be that God 

That vengeance can delay, 
Nor scarcely lift a chastening rod 

On sinful dust and clay. 

But still of late he seems to chide 
With threatenings from on high 

Storms that upheave the ocean wide. 
And darken all the sky. 

Admonish of a coming day, 

A day of wrath divine, 
For vengeance cannot long delay 

To cleanse a world of crime. 

The bow of promise long has stood 

His mercy to proclaim, 
He will not drown the world with flood, 

But wrap the Heavens in flame. 

Return, O, sinful man return, 

'Tis mercy calls you hence, 
A day of reckoning soon will come, 

And where is thy defence? 




YOUTH. 



Youth and Hope. 

Happy, gay and thoughtless creatures, 

Full of frolic, fun and glee; 
Well it is the future's darkened, 

Well it is we cannot see. 
Cannot see the path before us, 

Thorns and thistles crowd the way, 
Thousands would decline the journey 

Could they but the future see. 

Ah 'tis well the future's hidden, 
Thus we claim the present hour, 

And we paint the hills before us 

With hope's radiant sun and flower. 

'Tis truly well that hope was given 
While we journey on our way, 

And as well the future hidden 
While youthful pleasures crown the day. 



jv^ >''^ >^^ y'j^'^^ #^ #^ y^^ >^^ y'l^ 

jra->- a~&^ "Jrs^- a~a — --■60 o~tr~~ o>^ o">^ irs — fira-^ 



WALTER AND NELLIE'S HOME. 

A little cabin built of log's, 
The cracks chinked up with clay, 

One door looks on the forest wild. 
One window greets the day. 

No king- nor prince of royal blood, 

Though on imperial throne, 
Have more real comfort understood 

Than these two here alone. 

May love's bright flame grow brighter still 

As days and years roll by. 
Nor cloud nor tempest e'er obscure 

That bright connubial sky. 

For them I'll breath an anxious wish, 

Though I should do no more: 
May peace and plenty bless their lot, 

Nor want e'er reach their door. 



^^0m:«»j:h<^^ 



•'^^^^^ 



ALL HAVE A MISSION. 

The night distills the gentle dew, 
The rain cloud wets the clover, 

The fairest rose will bow its head 
With nectar running over. 

The winding brook the meadow seeks, 
Or rambles through the pasture, 

It has a mission full of love, 
It would weeping turn to laughter. 

The cooing dove, with words of love. 

Expressive of affection. 
May teach a lesson we should learn, 

T 'would be to man a blessing. 

The raptured soul may shed a tear 
That speaks of joy unbounded. 

The gushing of a generous heart 
With cords of love around it. 

Or moved by some enobling strain. 
Some theme of grand conception. 

That burns within the human heart, 
With noble grand inflation. 






Returning Home. 

But four months since I left my home, 

When nature all was gay; 
But now the scenery O, how changed, 

The summer's passed away. 

The blushing peach and apples red, 

And the fair daisies gay, 
Although no change they seem to dread. 

Say Summers' passed away. 

The yellow corn, now cut and shocked, 
And barns well stored with hay, 

All nature dressed in her brown cloak. 
Say Summers' passed away. 

The seared leaf that's falling. 

Now tells of earth's decay: 
The winds that now are calling, 

Say Summers' passed away. 

The birds now to the South have flown 

To make their annual stay: 
They've left us here without their songs — 

The Summer' passed away. 

Thus through the annual round of life 

Time never will delay: 
Through sports and toil and care and strife 

Time soon will pass away. 

Then let us here improve each hour 

As best indeed we may, 
That we with joy may hail the time 

When life has passed away. 



DECORATION DAY. 
To Our Departed Heroes. 

O, balm}^ breathed and flower bejewelled May, 
We welcome thy sweet presence once ag-ain. 

For with thee comes Memorial Day 
Devoted to our heroes battle slain. 

Of fl eting years have fled more than a score 
Since loomed the fatal storm of civil strife, 

And the wild cry went out from shore to shore, 
To arms, to arms, to save the nation's life. 

Yet with a melancholy pleasure still, 
We yearly welcome this sweet scented morn. 

And joyfully our patriot wish fulfil, 
The graves of our dead comrades to adorn. 

And while the stripped and starry flag shall wave. 
And Heaven 's air shall heave a patriot breast, 

May's choicest flowers shall deck each glorious 
grave, 
Where a defender of that flag doth rest. 

With joy that hath sweet fellowship with pain, 
Our yearly task 'twill be their deeds to tell. 

And in our children's ears, rehearse again. 
And bless the glorious cause for which they fell. 

Yet all our hearts are tuned to minor strains. 
And dirges thrill the bloom scented air. 

Whilst busy memory o'er each spirit reigns, 
And love long buried finds new being there. 

Each pulse beats time as the dead years march by, 
We seem to see those well loved forms once more, 

Again we kiss or heave the parting sigh. 
Again they vanish mid wars wild uproar. 



O, happy ye who gain the privilege, 
To live in fame while history endures, 

We half forgive wars desolating rage, 
That renders possible a fate like yours. 

But ye are few, the mass of those who die 
For freedoms cause in nameless graves go down 

But none the less their names are known on high, 
And none the less is their 's the martyr's crown. 

Still live their deeds and what for men they gained. 
Shall bless the race and grow fro;n age to age, 

While future patriots swarming to defend 
Will glory in the blood bought heritage. 

While here amidst those martyrs graves we stand. 
And grief with dewy wing doth slur the air, 

We here again with our uplifted hand. 
The sacred heritage to guard, we pledge, we swear. 

To you who sleep we swear with lifted hands, 
By gory field and ghastly prison pen. 

Life, fortune, honor as a pledge shall stand. 
That what ye did shall not have been done in vain. 



-^ 



CAPITAL AND LABOR. 

Come ye who are by fortune blessed 
With ample store and treasure, 

Who only need to take your rest 
Or to indulge in pleasure. 

Come condescend with me awhile. 
Let's see what makes the differ; 

Dame Fortune granted you her smile. 
In that alone you're better. 

Is it some rare intrinsic worth 

By nature your possession? 
Or was it granted at your birth 

For to possess the blessing? 

How'er secured there's one thing sure 

It has cost some honest labor: 
But wealth alone can never make 

You better than your neighbor. 

'Though you may boast of g-old in store, 

Of lands and vast possessions, 
A well stored mind is better far, 

A rich and grander blessing. 

Have you been blessed with worldly goods? 

You o^ve it all to labor, 
With crusted hands and sunburnt face— 

'Tis more to you than neighbor. 

Then bow your head, in reverence bow, 

Your vain conceit give over, 
'Twas honest toil that tilled the earth 

And raised for you the clover. 

And though your sides bulge out with fat 

As stall fed steer or heifer, 
For what good keeping you have had 

To labor you 're a debtor. 



What would have been this world of ours 

Without this honest toiling — 
Man sunk beneath the lowest brute, 

'Tis heaven's appointed calling. 

The earth but one unbroken wild, 

And gold a hidden treasure, 
'Tis indeed a magic wand 

Gives wealth as well as pleasure, 

It clothes the field with golden grain 

And plows the ocean tide. 
It reared these monuments of wealth 

And cities in their pride. 

You've bound the world with iron bands, 
Thus bind your hearts together. 

And as you strike the molten steel 
So strike for one another. 

The night, though tedious, long and dark, 

A brighter day is dawning. 
Paint on your banners everywhere: 

"Monopoly take warning. " 

And hand in hand with firm resolve 
Press on, we're sure of winning; 

Strike for the brothers and the right. 
The strife is but beginning. 



k k 



A BIRTHDAY SURPRISE, 
House Warming at A. J. Barrett's. 

'Tis not stern war noi- call to arms 
To which we're summoned hence. 

'Tis not the bugle's martial strains 
Nor yet our flag's defence: 

'Tis not because our nation moui-ns. 

And toil bows low her head, 
Nor yet that traitors hold the reigns. 

And rob the men who bled. 

Our mission here is born of love, 

Deep mingled with respect; 
Our warm regards we wish to prove 

And trust you'll own it such. 

We meet to grasp a comrade's hand. 

And hail his natal day. 
Recount the days like drifting sand, 

Through years that's passed away. 

We backward view the winding stream, 
Down which your feet have trod, 

Though dark by times the pach did seem 
Your trust was placed in God. 

A trust that never is misplaced 

By mortals here below, 
For he who trusts his sovereign grace 

His love and care shall know. 

Three score of years your feet have trod. 

The winding path of time. 
Like us you've felt the chastening rod 

And proved the hand devine. 



To-night we greet you as a friend 
With wishes strong- and true, 

For many years before the end 
And peace your journey through. 

Your borrowed years we hope may last, 
'Til four score years you claim, 

With peace and plenty to the last, 
And vigorous health maintain. 

And now our task of pleasure done 

Or nearly to a close 
May years of plenty crown your days 

And peace your last repose. 



'^^ ^^ "^^ ^^^ "^^ '^^ ^^^ "^^ "^^ ^^^ '^^ ^^i 

— -xTtJ -^~6 -'■iO ^tTO ^tTO -^6~Q -^tSO --So ^tTD --^0 --tS~6 ^iTD 



HARRISON and PROTECTION. 

Arise ye sons of fi eedoiii. 

Republicans by name, 
A^ain your country calls you 

To tread the path of fame, 
Where Lincoln, Grant and Garfield 

Have richest laurels won, 
Protect the cause of labor 

And vote for Harrison. 

Protection is our motto, 

A ballot fair and free. 
And equal rig'hts forever 

To all from sea to sea: 
One country, g'rand, united 

Where law and right is one. 
Thus paint we on our banner 

And shout for Harrison. 

Columbia wants for rulers 

No treason, tainted crew\ 
The men to head her millions 

Are loyal, tried and true. 
We'll stand for rig-ht and justice 

'Til labor's cause is won — 
Protection to industry — 

And vote for Harrison. 

And you w^ho fought and conquered 

On fields of bloody strife. 
Who strove midst death and carnage 

To save the nation's life: 
And though you numbered legions 

Your hearts are truly one, 
You'll rally 'round our standard 

And vote for Harrison. 



Unfold our noble banner 

And forward to the right, 
With tong-ue and pen and ballot 

We'll win the glorious fig-ht; 
Our skilled and trusted leaders 

Have g-rander victories won — 
Three rousing cheers for Morton, 

Twice three for Harrison. 



LINES. 

Suggested on Seeing Some Swallows on the 
Pinnacle of a Church Spire. 

Sure you are of lofty notion, 

Perched upon the church's spire; 
If there was another resting-, 

Faith, I believe you would be higher. 
High and higher is your motto — 

May our motto be the same — 
Not contented with the present, 

Strive for virtue, honor, fame. 
We may learn of every creature, 

Of each plant, each tree and flower; 
Let all nature be your teacher. 

Gaining wisdom every hour. 
See the woodvine, tree or sapling-; 

Should it cease to thrive and grow. 
Soon its withered leaves are scattered. 

Mingling with the filth and snow. 
Thus it is of mental training — 

Man will either sink or swim: 
Higher virtue still attaining, 

Or deeper sink in vice and sin. 



A DREAM. 

I had a dream that was not all a dream. 

And in that dream I saw, or thought I saw 

A mighty host with banners waving in the darkened 

air; 
Streamers and flags all wet with tears and bathed in 

blood, 
And as they drooping hung upon their stained staffs 
Wet with the orphans' tears, born onward, onward 
By those gastly forms fresh from a drunkard's grave. 
For such a host fit music grated on my ear. 
The infant's wail, the mother's sigh, the song of 

revelry, 
Debauchery wild — with deep despair — 
It was a funerel march fit for a reeling host 
That staggered to a drundard's grave; the clouds 
That lowered in a threatening sky 
Were lighted by the torches borne in their boney 

hands; 
Mocked by the forked lightning that gleamed upon 

that awful night. 
And the deep mouthed thunder from afar 
Gave trembling to the ground on which they trod. 
'Twas the voice of God that threatening told their 
Awful doom, and in deep cadence said: 
"Ye knew your Master's will, but did it not." 
Transparencies of fit device, emblems of death 
Were painted there; skulls and cross-bones. 
Bludgeons and blade, told of their fiendish work. 
Casks, decanters, demijohns, and goblets flowing 
To their brim beneath the motto well inscribed: 
"In this we conquer. " And there of strange device. 
But quite in keeping with the bloated throng, 
Were passing by. 
The worm of the distill, fit emblem of the worm that 

cannot die. 



A jar well filled hissing snakes that crawled and 

Crept upon the dregs left of the poison draught. 

The incendiary's torch, the assassin's brand, 

The open coffin with its murdered v»^ife and the 

Murderer's blood-stained hands were there portrayed. 

The murdered infant and the suicide were painted 
there 

As he had rushed from crime to death; to fill a 

Drunkard's grave or read with bloodshot eyes, 

High on the arches of those pearly gates, 

No drunkard there can enter in. With terror. 

Grief, and anguish wild they turned them to the left. 

With frantic yells^terific howls — and hissing tongue 

They hurried down the dark declivity, 

To die the death that cannot die. 

And here I awoke from that awful dream 

To find the sequel in our land; 

The drunkard's life, the drunkard's death; 

And, meditating, thought: — 

^How shocking must thy summons be. Oh Death, 

To hira, who through long years of deep debauchery 
here 

Is quite unfurnished for the world to come. 

In that dread moment how the frantic soul raves 
around 

The walls of her clay tenement, runs to each avenue, 

And shrieks for help — but shrieks in vain; 

With horror wild, and deep despair she backward 
looks 

On time misspent, debauchery wild, crime, dissipa- 
tion, 

Past, but now no longer her's; 

A longer, yet a little longer, O might she stay 

To wash away her stains and fit her for the passage. 

Mournful sight, each eye weeps blood, and every 

Groan she heaves is big with horror. 



But the foe like a staunch murderer, steady to his 

purpose, 
Pursues her close throug-h every lane of life, 
Nor misses once the track, but presses on 'til 
Forced to the tremendous verge. 
She sinks at last to everlasting- ruin. ' " 



DECAY. 

The fronded woodland's done its work. 

The leaves are growing old; 
They soon will seek their mother earth 

And mingle with its mold. 

The flowers that bloomed but yesterday 

Are drooping one by one. 
And tho' their robes are bright and gay, 

How soon, alas, they're gone. 

The birds that wove their sweetest song 

Will seek a fairer clime: 
Their stay with us will not long, 

They soon will 'bide their time. 

The babe a mother nursed and loved 

Soon grows to man's estate, 
While wrinkled brow and frosted locks 

Will crown both small and great. 




OUR WEDDING ANNIVERSARY. 
MAY 15. 

May, sweet May, will be here soon; 

A few more setting suns or change of moon. 

Or autumn leaves of gold and green, 

Or winter's blasts may intervene. 

Joy and grief, pleasure and pain 

With drifting snow, or pelting rain; 

But May, sweet May, though yet afar, 

I hail thee as ^ distant star. 

Or as some goddess of the wild, 

With smiles and beauty like a child. 

Yes, still I dream of lovely May 

With all the charms she can display. 

For still she brings to me one day 
That ha^ a purer, brighter ray; 
A day that's crowned my life with bliss, 
With more of joy than all the rest. 
For memory often takes me back 
O'er life's rough road or winding track, 
To when I claimed a loving wife 
That's proved the comfort of my life. 

The day the holy knot was tied, 
And you, dear wife, became my bride. 
Together we have climed life's hill, 
Together drank of good and ill. 
Of disapointment, pain and care, 
Together borne an equal share; 
When bowed beneath a load of grief 
As bows the ripe and laden sheaf. 
And now on life's declining plain, 
We will not grieve nor yet complain; 
But trusting, bear each burden still 
'Til life's short mission we fulfil. 



SPRING. 

Oh, balmy breathed and gentle Spring- 
Born on Nature's flowery wing, 

And basked in Summer's sun. 
We hail thee as a lovely child. 
That may our warmest love beguile, 

With dreams of bliss to come. 

We backward look on storms gone by, 
And linger on the brightening sky 

Of fairer days to come 
All nature feels thy quickening power 
And calmly waits the appointed hour 

When thy sweet task is done. 

The brook has broken her icy bands 
And wanders o'er a cheerful land 

That smiles with morning due. 
We hail the flowers with petals fair, 
Kissed by the fresh and balmy air; 

While birds their songs renew. 



IMPROMPTU LINES 
On Mental and Moral Progress. 

Rise with the kindling morning beams, 

Nor let thy transient soul delay: 

Time's wings are ever on the flight, 

And years, like moments, can't delay. 

Then up and ever onward press, 

With steady aim and firm resolve 

Press on and make the most of time, 

For time is but a passing dream — 

A prelude to eternity. 

And would'st thou make the most of it. 

With constant care direct thy steps: 

Let virtue mark thy every walk, 

And progress be thy watchword here. 

The eagle on his aerial flight 

Directs his gaze upon the sun. 

And boldly thus he soars aloft: 

So would'st thou rise, like him look up, 

And bond thy eager footsteps on. 

Set high thy mark, and should'st thou fail. 

Some height will be attained at least. 

Should noble elfort prove too strong. 

And failure mark thy upward flight. 

Point to Excelsior, and press on. 

Thus, wouldst thou climb the heights of fame, 

Or would'st thou strive at least to climb: 

Look not below on groveling earth 

Or jealous recreants left behind: 

For they're too often on the path 

Of darkness and declivity. 

And would but tend to drag thee down. 

Then if companions thou wouldst seek. 

Seek lofty, high, and noble minds: 



For such thy soul will elevate 
And help thee on thy journey up. 
And thou too may'st reciprocate, 
And help them on with thee to form 
A noble Heaven-bound, happy throng', 
With asperations broad and hig'h, 
As boundless, deep eternity. 



SEARCH NOT FOR GOD. 

Fly if you can beyond the reach of thoup-ht, 

No space is found where God is not. 

'Though worlds there are whose light can ne'er 

reach our sphere, 
Still God is there as He is hei^e. 

He rules the storm that heaves the ocean wild, 
And at His will it slumbers as a child. 
At His command sprang forth the worlds above; 
All nature proves His power. His wisdom and 
His love. 

The grass we tread is subject to His care. 
While worlds and systems His vigils share. 
The morning sunbeams in a drop of dew 
Proclaim His presence and His goodness too. 

Search not for God who gave creation birth: 
For He is here, He is the universe. 
He is the animation, the soul, the life, the breath. 
In him there is no end. decav, or death. 



GEORGE I AM LONELY. 

Written to his wife while in the war of the rebelion. 

Tell me, Susan, are you lonely, 

Are you thinking' oft of meV 
Do you wonder why I tarry, 

Why I don't return to theeV 

Still, dear wife, my counti-y's bleedin<>': 
Still she says she's work for me. 

Here to ming*le with her legions. 
In the cause of liberty. 

When this dreadful war is ended. 
When this bloody strife is done. 

All her dearest rig'hts defended, 
Then will I to thee return. 

"Not 'til then?" you ask me dearest? 

Not 'til then — my answer is; 
I could not forsake her interests 

For the dearest friend that lives. 

Don't feel wounded at my answer: 
You've an interest here with me: 

We have children, sons and daughters. 
Let us die or keep them free. 



Then I ask yon do not grieve. 

Don't be lonely nor repine: 
To your duty stearnly cleave; 

You've an interest g'reat as mine. 

Great as mine your interests are. 

Perhaps you're sacrificing' more: 
But God will g-ive you streng'th to bea 

Trust in Him. His name adore. 



Should I die before returning, 
Tell my boys and tell them well — 

T died my duty still performing; 
Bid them light where I had fell. 

Let them draw at once the saber, 
Brightened by a father's using: 

Tell them to return it never 

Whir St one loyal vein is oozing. 



To My Wife. 

I often think how lone and sad 
And drear would be the day. 

If you should reach the great beyond 
Before I'm called away. 

For me the world seems dreary now. 

But we've not long to stay: 
It may be mine, and may be yours 

To first be called away. 

But let us make the most of life. 

Improving every day: 
We've lived so far above all strife, 

And will 'til called away. 

Our lives may be like setting sun 

At close of Autumn's day, 
Or mild as lovely May or June. 

'Til we are called away. 



To Rev. H. Marsh and Family. 

We miss you, now you're gone, 
Your prayers and precepts miss. 

Think of the work that you have done, 
Your name and memory bless. 

We look on yonder stately tower, 

That points the way to God, 
Or bids us choose the better path, 

Your feet so faithfully trod. 

The bell that rings each Sabbath morn. 

Or calls to weekly prayer. 
Still bids us think of you, though gone, 

Or wish you still was here. 

We know your prayers will still ascend. 

Before the throne on high. 
That we prove faithful to the end. 

And meet you in the sky. 

May health and strength and much success 

Your future journey crown. 
While flowers of ease may strew your path 

With friends and kindred round. 

Your home here now like a palace rare. 

Compared with days of yore; 
A noble wife and daughters fair, 

O, who could wish for more? 

Nay, more I cannot wish for you, 
Than all youi friends will ask. 

So here I'll write a fond adieu, 
And close a pleasant task. 



In Memory of Mrs. Nina Darling. 

I knew her as a very friend 

In sickness and in pain: 
Her willing- hands would help extend 

Without reward or gain. 

I knew her since she loved and wed, 

Her, as a mother knew; 
I saw her watch the sufferer's bed 

With anxious care and true. 

I watched her when her fevered brow 
Was racked with deadly pain: 

But she has gone and left us now— 
Our loss may be her gain. 

Poor sufferer; Now she's laid at rest: 

Her anxious heart is still; 
God surely knows— perhaps 'tis best: 

We own his sovereign will. 

Her busy hands and weary limbs 
Have found a resting place 

We'll hear no more her welcome voice, 
Nor see her smiling face. 



^zg ^W f^^ ;^?^ JH^ f^^^^ ,$?^4^ ^^^ 

iTs — (Tjj^ or^^ o"a^ -'tf^ cr&^ cr&^ crs^. Irs-^ (ny>- 



The Plow. 

Long* hast thou vexed the earth, old plow, 

And caused its soil to yield; 
The farmer's choicest weapon, thou, 

To chafe the fertile field. 

May peace and plenty bless the man 

That loves to guide the plow, 
His labors yield a rich reward, 

And honor crown his brow. 




Would that thy stilts were never left, 

To grasp the warriors blade, 
Nor in thy furrows left to rust, 

While human blood is shed. 

O, come thou promised day of peace, 
When swords shall form thy share, 

When peace shall spread like ocean wide. 
The day we hope is near. 



Then may the lamb lay safely down 

Beside the forest king-; 
A child may with the serpent play. 

As with a harmless thing^. 

Then man shall hail his fellow men, 

As brother true and tried, 
Love, peace and justice then shall reign. 

O'er land and ocean wide. 

The soil that once was stained with blood, 

Shall yield its golden grain, 
And man shall learn to serve his God, 

And Christ as King* shall reign. 



Lines to His Grandson, 
George Arthur Reed,--- July 24, 1867. 

Those tiny feet and bright blue eyes: 

That smile like angels' love. 
My humble prayer and anxious wish 

Thy future course may prove. 

But OhI What snares beset lifes path, 

What evils crowd the way: 
I see thy frail and tender bark 

Just launched upon the bay. 

A stormy ocean lies beyond, 

Of shoal and hidden rock; 
Oh, may thy heart grov; bold and strong. 

To stem the wave and shock. 

And may the pilot of thy youth 

Prove equal to her task; 
With deep impressions strong and good 

Thnt cannot fail to last. 



Push Along— Keep Moving. 

TO WALTER. 

I'd have you take your dad's advice. 

The path of life pursueing, 
Keep well yourself from every vice, 

Go, push along, keep moving. 

Each talent strive to cultivate. 
Look well to what you're doing, 

Nor deem the effort made too late. 
But push along, keep moving. 

The grandest temples have been built, 
By constant blows and hewing, 

'Tis never best to beg or wait, 
But push along, keep moving. 

'Though fortune may not always smile, 

On everything we're doing. 
She often proves a fickle child. 

Go push along, keep moying. 

The richest prize that man has gained, 

Has come of constant doing. 
Would you some generous height attain, 

Go push along, keep moving. 

Then paste this motto on your wall 
As yours, what 'ere you're doing. 

Or write it in some book or scroll, 
And push along, keep moving. 



29th Michigan and The Battle of Decatur 

When we had Jeft our native Iiomes, 

The land of lakes and rivers, 
Where we had basked in summer's sun, 

In winter's frost had shivered; 
We bade farewell to friends most dear. 

To mothers, wives and daug-hters: 
To lakes and fields and rivers clear. 

And springs of crystal waters. 
We took our journey for the South, 

The land of stormy battle. 
Where war's dark clouds the sky o'ercast. 

And death's deep thunders rattled. 
We passed o'er fields in ruin laid, 

By cities turned to ashes; 
We saw our brothers' unmarked graves; 

'Neath Southern hills and marshes: 

Where they in man's best cause had fought 

And died in conquering traitors; 
We saw the boasted Sunny South, 

The land of alligators. 
And when we reached the Tennessee, 

Far down in Alabama, 
We heard the sound of musketry. 

While cannon shook the valley. 
In haste we left the cattle-train 

Nor scarcely thought of danger; 
We quickly passed the pontoon bridge, 

To fight for General Granger. 
Six hundred men within the fort 

Striving to hold Decatur, 
While Hood with thirty-thousand out 

Was trying hard to take her. 



But when they saw the Tweoty-Dinth, 

As we came o'er the river, 
Says Hood, "we'd better count the cost; 

Hold on, we'd best consider." 

He thus addressed his Generals 'round 
Bragg, Bunegard, and Cheatham; 

But we'd no time to hear their cant. 
We knew we could defeat them- 

Says Captain Foech, "faf<t load your guns; 

They're open for conviction." 
While we w^ith muskets joined the fun, 

Bound that we'd swamp or ditch 'em. 

And up the river's winding bank. 

Three guns were belching lava; 
For they were bound to spoil our bridge, 

Or hurt our gun- boat navy. 

A Captain bold spoke to his troops, 

The sons of sable color; 
Said they, "Lead on our master bold, 

You'll find that we will follow." 

So as he led they followed on, 

Nor seemed to think of danger: 
And as they boldly spiked the guns, 

Hurrahed for General Granger. 

No quarters to the Rebs they gave; 

Fort Pillow was their motto. 
So every Rebel found a grave 

Sa e one they did not slaughter. 

Says Hood, "Come boys let's blow our horns, 

[letreat we'd best be sounding, 
They've srot the Niggars at the work. 

They'll kill us all confound them." 



One thousand of the rebel crew 

Slain, crippled, maimed and captured, 

Were made to feel what we could do 
When they dare give us battle. 

So now they've left us to ourselves. 

Hardtack as well as coffee, 
And if they ever come again. 

We'll give them Zollicoffer. 

Long, long may wave the dear old flag 

In triumph o'er Decatur, 
When we have joined our peaceful homes 

Or slaughtered the last traitor. 

I'll now dismiss my dog'rel rhyme. 
Farewell to you kind reader; 

We hope to soon see Northern climes, 
Her Maples, Pines and Cedars, 



k k 



Sleighing. 

When February's surly blast 

Went through the forest raving', 
The thouo-ht occured to me by chance 

Confinement was enslaveing. 
So I proposed the thing" to Miss 

And she agreed by saying-, 
"If you'l a horse and catter get 

We'll both go out a sleighing." 
I then spoke to a friend of mine, 

One that I could confide in, 
And thus procured both horse and sleigh 

For to go out a riding. 
On Sunday morning I came in and spoke 

To Miss a saying, 
"If all goes right, e'er ten o'clock 

Let us be off a sleighing. " 
So she commenced at once to fix 

And lost no time contriving, 
And e'er the hour of ten arrived, 

We down the Thames were driving. 
As we went sliding down the ice, 

We pitied some for staying. 
And thought there's nothing quite as nice 

As to be out a sleighing. 
By chance a bolt came out the sleigh, 

Which left the thills a dragging, 
Both horse and cutter ran away, 

Which made it ticklish riding. 
Poor beast more wild and wilder grew. 

I thought of over hauling; 
The cutter turned and gave a slue, 

And we went out a sprawling. 



By Jove, I'm sure I had to laugrh, 
And should if I'd been dying; 

To see how things had gone adrift 
And scattered round were lying. 

But Miss got up and smilingly 
Her looks seemed to be saying, 

I think the business rather strange 
Is this what you call sleighing? 

But we got down to church in time 
The Priest was just a praying, 

But sure he quite neglected us 
Which spoiled our luck a sleighing. 

But when the meeting it was out 

(A thing most edifying) 
We down upon the ice again, 

And off like birds went flying. 

But Mag began her pranks again, 

And off on fitful canter, 
And in a snow-bank that's hard by, 

We shortly did cast anchor. 

As we looked to view the place, 
And see where we were laying. 

Some men stood by that seemed to say, 
You're surely out a sleighing. 

But then to match the skittish beast 
For pranks she had been playing, 

We made her haul us on thb street, 
Thought that was safer sleighing. 

Miss said that she preferred to drive 
Her willing hands displaying, 

I drew her closer to my side, 
I like that way when sleighing. 



But as her father's house we reached, 

A question I propounded, 
Which caused that maiden fair to blush; 

For she looked quite confounded. 

In silence she gave her consent 
As she leaned on my shoulder. 

But in the years that's since g*one by, 
She's grown a little bolder. 

And when her father's gate we reached 
The frisky beast I hitched her, 

My girl I lifted from the sleigh. 
By Jove. I believe I kissed her. 

But to go on tell the rest. 
And what we had been saying, 

I rather think it isn't best, 
So that's the last of sleighing. 



All Alone — A Lamentation. 

I miss you, Priscilla, my darling', 
The stove's g^rowin^' cold in my room: 

And still as the grave is our household, 
In silence I dream of my doom. 

The rain, sleet and snow is on the sidewalk, 
The winds echo back my sad moan, 

The church bells ring- out in the steeple, 
And I am alone— alone. 

I want you Priscilla, my darling, 

Don't leave me Priscilla, I'll fret, 
I would nestle in silence beside you 

And all but your presence forget. 

I call you Priscilla, my darling. 
My voice echoes back on my heart, 

I stretch out my arms to you longing, 
But lo, they fall empty apart. 

I whisper the love that you've taught me, 
And think of the bliss we have known, 

'Til my heart burns within me, Priscilla, 
But Priscilla, I am alone. 

I need you Priscilla, my darling. 
For your presence my very heart aches, 

I look back o'er the road we have travelled, 
And the wrongs I have done you, I hate. 

But doubt casts a gloom o'er my spirit, 
I have called and have cried till I'm hoarse, 

Priscilla, my darling, come back. 
If you don't, I shall seek a divorce. 

I believe there's some girls that would have me, 
Then why should I worry and fret? 

But still I can't help it, Priscilla, 
For I hope you'll come back to me yet. 



Come back and our love we'll renew, 
And peace shall prevail in our home, 

I can't help it, I'm thinking of you, 
And some others, while I am alone. 

My pleading* and crying have proved a success. 

No longer dejected I roam, 
Priscilla's got back, she is safe in our nest, 

And now I am not alone. 



A Word From Michigan to the Convention. 

Ye men of wisdom, men of sense; 

Chosen leaders of our cause, 
Why indulge in vain descent 

While our many foes rejoice. 

When compared with the great issue 

Factious strife is worse than vain; 
Little matters who is victor. 

Be it Harrison or Blaine, 

Fleal at once each vain descension, 

Treat it as a thing of naught; 
Prove yourselves above contention, 

Do your duty as you aught. 

Noble, brave and generous Alger, 

Men of Michigan we would claim, 
Yet with loyal hearts we rally 

To the leader you may name. 



To My Friend "Squibbs". 

You've soared so high, my learned friend. 

Your talents are so rare, 
I scarcely see how you can bring, 

Such thoughts profound to bear. 

But as the subject treats of dogs, 

Let doggerel be the rhyme; 
But still of loftier thoughts I'm sure, 

Your genius must incline. 

But then such noble, lofty minds, 

Will sometimes condescend. 
Like birds that soar above the clouds 

To deepest vales descend. 

Suppose you choose some noble theme 

Congenial to your skill, 
In lofty strains of noble verse 

Suggested by the mill; 

The undulating gentle slopes, 

The frogs that sing of spring, 
The cow that mired in the marsh, 

Or horse that died of spleen. 

Have you not measured some old log 

Of more than common size*? 
With such a theme I'm sure you might 

Your numerous friends surprise. 



An Old Man's Soliloquy. 

Now that days of youth have fled, 

Of manhood and of strength 
That age has silvered o'er ray head 

And I ara almost deaf. 
My eyes that once were bright and clear 

Are shrouded now in gloom, 
The birds that once I loved to here 

Now vainly pipe their tune. ■ 

The strength that once I claimed with pride 

Has left my aged frame. 
Those manly sports I'm now denied, 

To try would be in vain. 
Thus one by one earth's charms have fled 

Tis well! It should be so 
Death and the grave have lost their dread 

And mercy bids us go. 
Then why should those we leave behind 

Mourn when we've passed awayV 
They too, like us will bide their time; 

They too, wili have their day. 

This life at best is like an inn 

Where mortals come and go; 
They tell me death's the fruit of sin, 

I cannot see it so. 
Life, growth and death is everywhere 

On nature's brow inscribed 
The hand of God has placed it thei'e 

Nor can it be denied. 
The teaming millions of the past 

Have gone as we must go; 
Life's journey cannot always last, 

We know it must be so. 



The ripened fruit that seeks the ground 
Makes room for buds and flowers, 

That other fruit may there abound 
With springs refreshing showers. 

Yes, God himself did so ordain, 

And nature must obey; 
All man made schemes will prove in vain; 

Like man, they pass away. 

Then tell me not that man was made 

Immortal here below; 
I can't believe that God so said 

Or meant it should be so. 
A thousand worlds would scarce contain 

The race that's come and gone; 
Then to believe I try in vain 

Theres surely something wrong. 
Who can believe that all mankind 

With their increasing powers 
Could still upon this earth remaiu, 

This lower world of ours? 
Though some claim death's a cruel king, 

A thing that we should dread, 
But Christ has taken from death its siting 

As the Apostle said. 
Then let our lives be noble here 

With generous deeds and true; 
The future thus we need not fear. 

Though death itself per sue. 



These rambling thoughts may all be wrong, 

And lead my feet astray ; 
Then teach me, Lord, to see the right, 

And find a better way. 



To err ,we know, a human thing, 
While truth and rig'ht devine 

Then may I learn the truth to know 
And to the right incline. 



CLOSE OF A DEBATE IN BEHALF OF 
"THE POOR INDIAN. ' 

"We see or imag'ine we can see tlie remnant of a once mighty 
nation standing on some far off western hill, and as he looks 
back over what to him is a ruined and despoiled country he ex- 
claims: 

'Those mountains, hills and vales were ours, 

Those lakes and rivers wide, 
This land that kissed the eastern wave 

And clasped the western tide. 
We laid beneath the northern snows 

We basked in southern sun; 
The boundless forest all was ours, 

Where game uncounted run. 
Tje palefaced nations of the east 
Came down like summer's rain 
On all we had they've made a feast 
And left us scarce a name.' " 



THE POND LILY. 

Beside a dark and slug-gish pond 
Within the forest-; deep recess 

There grew a lily in its prime 

And all of loveliness was dressed. 

Its pure fair blossom white as snow 
And goldey petals bright and gay 

Charmed the sight and touched the heart 
Of one who chanced to passed that way. 

And from the blue skye glorious depth, 

A tender face seemed to look down 
And bade the loved that she had left 

To win themselves a golden crown. 
That would forever grace their brow 

Among the angels in that land 
Where they the crown of life do wear 

And where among the blest they stand. 
The darksome pond the forests depth 

A symbol is of life on earth 
The lovely lily 's golden crown 

Of the immortal spirits birth. 
When life is o'er the spirits flees 

To those blest scenes where is no strife 
But crowning loveliness awaits 

Its entrance to immortal life. 



i 



THE SUNNY SOUTH-LAND. 

Oh. hoi for the South, bahny land, 

Where a breeze from the ocean is g"iven, 

Where the fruit-laden orange trees stand 
And the rose has a breath as of heaven. 

We have sons in that bright sunny land, 
With wives both industrious and fair; 

They have children as bright as the roses. 
And pure as the frost-laden air. 

Then ho, for the land of the oak. 
With its evergreen leaves in the air. 

Where the pine wears its boughs for a cloak. 
And the orchards have fruit rich and rare. 

There groves have the boasted palmetto. 
The laurel-crowned mountains are there. 

The birds have a song for the morning 
To drive away sorrow and care. 

Then ho, for the flower-clad region, 
Its health-giving breezes to share; 

There's much in the North that is pleasing. 
Yet 1 leave it with little despair. 

I dream of the shady magnolia 

Protecting a carpet of green, 
Bright shells that are found near the ocean 

And fish 'neath the waves of each stream. 

Then ho, for the land now improving, 
Rich promises in future is there. 

With mountains of wealth on her bosom. 
And health in its life-giving air. 

No longer neglected she slumbers, 

Awoke by the tread of the free. 
She cheerfully welcomes our numbers 

And asks our improvements to see. 



LINES TO HIS WIFE. 

Composed while waiting for the cars at Laverne, Tennessee, en 
the morning of May 15th, 1865; it being her birthday and the an- 
nual day of their wedding. 

The silver moon was gracefully veiled 

In modest clouds on zephyrs wing, 
While half her gentle radience shown 

And bathed the world's fair scenes of spring. 

She seemed a bride with smiles adorned, 
That oft the harmless truant played. 

Courting the cloud's fantastic form 
To hide the world in doubtful shade. 

But yonder, see the dappled east. 

Prelude to the fast approaching morn. 
Thy natal day, our nuptial feast 

Upon the gentle wings are bourn. 
Three times five years, how short the space 

On life's meandering path they seem, 
Drove on with Care's tempestions haste. 

Or lured by Hope's deceptive dream. 

But, dearest one, we will not grieve. 

Nor pine, nor murmur at our lot; 
The darkest hours have been relieved. 

We've mercy found in every spot. 

Then when each year returns the day 

Dressed in richest robes of spring. 
Drive every thought of care away 

And drink the profered pleasures in. 

Those rapturous scenes of middle May 

With every breath of air perfumed 
Will bid our wandering thoughts to stay, 

And draw us backward from the tomb 



Life ill Its Variations. 

Yes, you my friend have told us well 

And well the truth protrayea, 
Life has its mingled varied hues 

Of light and deepest shade. 
We see the weaver's mingled threads, 

The painter's blended dye. 
The rainbow with its varied hues 

While arched upon the sky. 
The sunbeam's paint the darkest cloud 

With tints of rarest hue; 
The laikmay sing his sweetest lay 

While drenched with evening dew. 

The brightest rays the sun has given 
Breaks through a clouded sky, 

The sweetest fragrance of the rose 
Is borne upon a sigh. 

The brightest morn that breaks the day 

May have the darkest noon. 
The i-ichest beams that paint the west 

Oft turn to deepest gloom. 

But still there's more of light than shade, 
There's more of sun than rain; 

The blessings strewn upon our path 
Gives pleasure more than pain. 

The wildest storm is soon dispelled. 

The clouds will break away, 
The darkest hour of the morn 

Proceeds the break of day. 

The heaviest cloud can but conceal 

A radiant sky beyond it; 
'Tis thus on life's meandering path 

The most desponding find it. 



Sweet flowers may bloom upon the grave 

Made rich with tears of grief, 
And hope may spring from some dark spot, 

On wing's of sweet relief. 

Dedicated to "Squibbs". 



A LETTER. 

Edmore, Mich,, .Jan. 3rd, 188.5, 

My Dear Little Grace May :— 

I bid you welcome ^o this cold world of our's. You have 
placed me in the endearing relation of grandpa for the first time ; 
and though your visit has been somewhat delayed, still I bid you 
welcome; and hope that your stay may be a long and pleasant one. 
and that your life may be as pure as the snow that now wraps the 
earth: and that God may bless and keep you to the end.— 

But my heart grows as weak as a woman's 

And the fouutains of grief over flow 
When [ think of the path steap and rugged 

Where those dear IHtle feet may go. 

But I pray God may guide and may keep you, 

On the path that leads to the sky 
Where the angels of Heaven may meet you 

And welcome you home when you die. 

Your ever affectionate grandpa. 



With loving friends and children dear. 
And Peace and Plenty at our door, 

The loneliest hours of life to cheer. 
Contentment could not ask for more. 

Then here's my hope, my prayer, my wish; 

May Peace and Plenty bless thy lot, 
And dare I ask for years of ease, 

Each other wish might be forgot. 

But there's an anchor in the soul 

That reaches far within the veil; 
Religeon should our thoughts control 

Disperse each cloud, sink every gale. 

Then when o'er life's rough sea you're driven 
To reach that bright and blissful shore 

You'll bask beneath the smiles of Heaven 
With dear ones that have erone before. 

And here a thought pervades the heart; 

A meeting there shall have no end. 
Mother and child shall never part. 

Nor bid adeau to long loved friends. 



INDEPENDENCE DAY, JULY 4th 1887. 

We hail this bright and balmy morn 

With music, *>*un and bell, 
We hail, with shout and revelry 

On mountain, hill and dell. 

We meet to chant our song's of praise, 

With g'rateful hearts to sing: 
No earthly prince is worshiped here. 

We bow to Heaven's king. 

Well may the cannon's mouth proclaim 

A mig"hty nation's birth; 
Whilst from a million staffs shall wave 

The proudest flag of earth. 
A million voices well may sing, 

A million tongues exclaim: 
•'We love thy every star and stripe, 

We know from whence thou come." 
Fair banner of the brave and free, 

Float on forever more; 
From old Atlantic's rugged coast 

To broad Pacific's shore. 
And whilst with starry eyes she looks 

From mountain, sea and plain, 
In all her pride she seems to say 

Or well she might exclaim: — 
"Roll on thou mighty ocean, roll, 

Earth's fartherest realms explore; 
Thou canst not reach a fairer clime 

Or wash a richer shore. " 
We claim a land by Heaven redeemed. 

And washed in patriots' blood. 
Free as the air that sweeps our hills 

Broad as the mighty flood. 



In deep distress we cried to God 

Our injured land to save. 
The God of Nations heard our prayer, 

The timely blessing g"ave. 

Thou gave us, lord, a Washington, 

A LaFayette did send, 
With men of wisdom, power and strength 

To consumate the end. 

The earth has marked its annual round 

An hundred times and ten. 
Since first our fathers did proclaim 

The Heaven born right of men. 

And now that has been wiped away 

The nation's deepest stain, 
No slave can bow a menial here 

Nor wear a tyrant's chain. 

Although we've felt the chastening rod, 

We own the just decree, 
And proudly claim a nation cleansed, 

Consistent, brave and free. 

Free as the eagle on his wing 

Free as the mountain air; 
Free to protect our nation's rights, 

And free to do and dare. 



TO TOM. 

I loDg ha' tho't, my dear friend Tom 

A letter to ha' sent you; 
To fill it foo o' g-ood advice 

From evils to prevent you. 
I know that Nature's gi'n you sense 

To stear your bark foo well Tom, 
But in some luckless hour you ken, 

You might run on a shoal Tom. 
But when you've g^ot your sails all set 

And filled with gentle breeze, Tom, 
Then keep your craft with ballast trim 

Nor let her run a lee Tom. 
But should you find she's bound to beat, 

I'd have you reaf your sails Tom; 
For she might founder on a rock. 

Or strand upon some shoal Tom. 
And should she fail to heed the helm 

Nor should the storm abate Tom, 
You better cast your anchor then 

It soon might be too late Tom. 
The storm of life will come to this, 

You'l find it soon or late, Tom 
And when you've anchored down for life, 

God grant you a good mate, Tom. 
While spying 'round through human kind, 

I'd ha' you scan them close, Tom, 
For you will find 'tis not men alone 

For women, too, wear cloaks, Tom. 
"Consul' your tho'ts" as Burns has said, 

Yes e'en your soul's intent Tom, 
And scan through other's secret plans, 

Find on what schemes their bent Tom. 



A LETTER. 

Lavergne, Tennesee, March 7, 1865. 
The following lines were suggested on receiving a bouquet of 
flowers from a little girl whose father is a Colonel in the Rebel 
Army. 

These flowers were plucked by angle hands, 

A cherub brig-ht like thee, 
^'Have you a daughter," she demands, 
"A little girl like me?" 

"Yes I've a little girl," said I 

"As bright as Effie Lee" 
"Then take them to your daughter sir 

And say they were sent by me." 
I told her you was far away 

The flowers would lose their bloom, 
"But take them to your house," she says, 

"They will not die so soon." 

Then, Sarah, here are these flowers so fair 

They're sent by Effie Lee 
May Effie's pa come back from war 

When I return to thee. 

Your afiectionate pa, 

To Sarah Reed Lieut. Geo. Reed, 



IN MEMORY OF MRS, WALTER J. HILL. 

The following- liies refer to a true incident of her last moments V 
Young' and tender, mild and lovely, 

She hath felt Death's icy kiss; 
'Round her silent clay we hover, 

She has reached a world of bliss. 
Through the veil her eyes were piercing- 

Ere she left this earthly clod, 
Sister spirits, g*ently whispering, 

Beckoned to the fold of God. 
"Hark, I hear my sister calling, 

'Sister Ella, come away,' " 
"Soon I'll come," she said, responding, 

"Farewell, friends. I cannot stay." 
Thus she whispered from her pillow. 

Whisper from her dying bed. 
Ere she passed beyond the billow, 

Ere her gentle spirit fled. 
Moui'n ye not that she has left us, 

Rather that we're left behind; 
Spring perpetual, flowers immortal, 

Friends unchanging she will find. 



Don't trust ag-ain your dearest friend, 

Your business to conduct Tom; 
For they might not your plans conceive 

And throw you in the lurch Tom. 
And now I close my briief advice 

May Heaven send you luck Tom 
And keep you free from care and strife 

Ts still my earnest wish Tom. 



THE RAIN BOW. 

Trumphant arch of beancious form 
That tells us of departing- storm; 
A promise bright to mortals given 
And painted on the vault of heaven. 
The wondrous stride of modern art 
Has failed to show us what thou art, 
Phylosophy alike in vain 
Has tried thy mistery to explain. 
In vain the painter forms his dye 
To show thy beauty in the sky. 
The poets song in lofty strain 
Has failed thy beauty to explain. 
But looked upon with poet's eye 
Thou art a passage to the sky; 
A radient path for spirits given. 
As they ascend from earth to Heaven. 
And if our li\es should but compare 
In form and beauty half as rare 
We then might hope to tread thy way 
To brighter realms of endless day. 



A MOTHER'S LOVE. 

She who her tender offspring eyes 

Wich anxious hopes and fears 
She'll watch them through the midnight hours 

And guard their tender years. 
Her every prayer and anxious thought 

For their well being's given, 
She'd make them happy here on earth 

And happy thrice in Heaven. 
The Ocean has unfathomed depths, 

The sky eternal space; 
A mother's love is full as deep, 

Its bounds there's none can trace 
And though her offspring steps aside. 

In pathways quite forbidden. 
Her heart of love can scarcely chide. 

While every wrong's forgiven. 



TO A BOQUET OF FLOWERS. 

Yes, God has sent His angels fort, 

His wonderous work to do, 
They paint the lily and the rose 

In tints of every hue. 
They deck the brow^ of nature fair 

With garlands bright and gay, 
And frieght the fragrant scented air 

With the perfume of May. 



LINES TO HIS WIFE, WRITTEN IN THE FALL 

May sweet May will be here soon. 

A few more setting suns, or change of moon; 

Or autumn leaves of gold and green, 

Or winter's blast may intervene. 

Joy and grief, pleasure and pain. 

With drifting snow and pelting rain 

But May, sweet May, though yet afar 

I hail thee as a distant star. 

Or as some goddess of the wild. 

With smiles and beauty like a child; 

Yes, still I dream of lovely May, 

With all the charms she can display. 

For still she brings to me one day 

That has a purer, brighter ray; 

A day that crowns my life with bliss, 

With more of joy than all the rest. 

For memory often takes me back 

O'er life's rough road or winding track 

To when I claimed a loving wife 

That has brought comfort to my life. 

The day the holy knot was tied 
And you, dear wife became my bride. 
Together we have climed life's hill 
Togeiher drank of good and ill. 
Of disapointment: pain and care. 
Together borne an equal share. 
When bowed beneath a load of grief 
As bcws the ripe and laden sheaf. 
And -now, on life's declining plain 
We will not grieve, nor yet complain 
But, trusting, bear each burden still, 
'Til life's short mission we fulfill. 



MUSING 

I love to steal away awhile 

In some sequestered shade, 
Where all is peaceful, all is still, 

And rest this aching head. 
The world is full of care and strife 

Prom early morn 'til noon; 
And from the day's meridian hour 

'Til nig'ht's returning gloom. 
I love to hear the tinkling rill, 

The birds' enchanting song; 
It makes the quiet seem more still, 

As moments pass along. 
There memory well can travel back 

O'er life's meandering path; 
Recall the pleasures we have had, 

Or grief through which we've passed. 



NOV 22 IWS* 



iroPY nn TO CAT niv. 

NOV 22 1909 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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